


All Things Left Within

by meirav



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Epilogue Compliant, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Single Parent Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9989651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meirav/pseuds/meirav
Summary: “We’re not Family, Potter.”“We aren’t, but they are.”A chance meeting at a gravesite, and two men exhausted by a war that should have ended years ago.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is vaguely inspired by a line in Ghost by Neutral Milk Hotel, the story however, is not.
> 
> ((Edit;March 2018)) I was rereading this fic and noticed a few points at which the story falls through. I decided to fix them, and rather than reposting the entire story, I chose to simply edit the original upload. IF you are rereading the story and it seems different, this is why.

The air was crisp. Cool autumn breezes swirled through the cemetery as Draco trekked his way down a newly minted path, gravel and drying leaves crunching underfoot. He shifted Scorpius from one hip to another. The boy was nearly three now, old enough to walk himself wherever he needed to go, but Draco wasn’t ready to put him down. Not yet. His mother accused him of coddling, but he knew there was no venom behind her words. Even she could not deny the changing of the times.

The walk was familiar, one he’d made many times over the past thirteen months, it was easy to slip into autopilot for the short time it took to reach the back of the cemetery where Astoria was buried. Draco allowed his thoughts to take him. Recently, he’d been cataloguing; sorting his memories into imaginary boxes and stacking them oh so carefully in the back of his mind. It was something Severus had taught him before he died, a way to make it so one could only access a certain kind of memory at a time. The trick, Severus had said, was to keep the dangerous memories under lock and key, hide them under fluff so they would be easily looked over. Draco wondered whether Astoria was a dangerous memory.

“Down! Down,” Draco was pulled from his thinking by his young son’s squirming, Scorpius was growing increasingly more precocious everyday and Draco wasn’t in the mood to fight with him. He set the boy down gingerly, and let him run freely up the road towards his mother’s headstone. He knew the way just as well as his father, and besides, Draco wasn’t worried. With the Second War commemoration events at the main yard, this cemetery was practically empty today.

When he arrived at Astoria’s gravesite Scorpius was already waiting, using his mother’s headstone to hold himself up. Part of Draco wished that he’d be this small forever, but of course there’d come a day when his son would be taller than the modest marking reserved for Draco’s ‘first wife’. It was part of the many things Draco wished he could change, but couldn’t: of course his mother expected him to remarry, of course that wife would die when he did and be buried in the main plot by Malfoy manner, of course he still loved Astoria, even if their marriage had been all for show. Draco pulled a small wicker basket out of his breast pocket, and with a flick of his wand the picnic began to set itself. Picking Scorpius up and setting him gently on the small blanket laid before them, the two began their meal in amiable silence.

Draco didn’t think anyone had expected him to be good at his role as a single father, but the company of a toddler was all he could handle most days. He watched as Scorpius played with his food, chuckling when the boy accidentally transfigured his napkin into a flying paper crane. They’d been having more and more bouts of accidental magic these days and Draco was always delighted when they occurred. Scorpius played with the crane for a while, chasing it around the small cemetery. Once again, Draco let him go, but when he heard footsteps crunching up the path that led to their little corner of the cemetery, he was on his feet at once, wand drawn.

“Woah there, Bud!” Harry bloody Potter was standing at the mouth of the path, holding Draco’s child as if he were his own, “Wouldn’t want you running off where daddy can’t catch you now, would we?” Potter’s green eyes sparkled and Draco resented the way Scorpius seemed so comfortable in the other man’s arms.

“You can put my son down, Potter” He called rather shortly, “I was watching him, you know.” Draco glared as Potter set Scorpius down on the gravel underfoot. Draco expected his child to come running back down the path towards him, but instead, Scorpius look up at Potter expectantly, the hint of a a pout playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Oh sorry, this is yours,” Potter said, handing Scorpius his crane and ruffling the boys hair as he did so. The action made Draco’s blood boil. Of course perfect Potter, savior of society, had no qualms about touching other people’s children without thought. How many babies had he been asked to kiss over the last five years. Pathetic. 

Draco coughed, gathering Scorpius into his arms as he did so. “I know you seem to think we’re family-“ His snide remark was cut off by Scorpius’ babbling. The Lupin boy was hiding just behind Potter’s legs, and Scorpius was excited at the sight of him.

“Teddy!’ the boy screeched, “Teddy, Teddy, Teddy, Teddy!”

“Your cousin’s name is Edward, Scorpius,” Draco corrected -the name was common enough without having to bastardize it further- but he did not stop his son from wriggling out of his arms and going to greet the other boy. Draco caught Potter’s eye roll but chose to say nothing about it. Instead, he sat back down on the blanket and resumed his lunch. By the look of it, he wasn’t getting rid of Potter or Edward any time soon. Besides, it would be good for the Lupin boy to socialize with a wizard of actual status for once, even one who was only two years old. 

Draco took small sips from the tea thermos he’d brought with them, grateful hat he’d remembered a drink for himself this time and wouldn’t have to steal small drinks of Scorpius’ pumpkin juice as he’d had to so many times before. As they watched the children play, Draco grew increasingly more aware of Potter’s tall presence looming over him. The man was far too fit for someone whose only job was to be universally adored and make the occasional public appearance, and his hair hadn’t gotten anymore kept since their Hogwarts days. He watched Edward and Scorpius intently, the ghost of a smile pulling at his mouth. Potter, Draco thought, looked entirely too comfortable considering the situation at hand. Infuriating. 

“Well,” Draco snapped, “are you going to join me, or are you just going to stand there with your arms dangling like that,” He reveled in the way Potter’s arms immediately crossed self consciously over his chest.

“Worried, Potter? I don’t bite,” Draco said, emboldened. He watched as Potter lowered himself gingerly onto the edge of the blanket, now they were on equal footing,“one would expect the great Harry Potter to be front and center at an event commemorating the war effort,” Draco spat. 

“Oh bug off,” Potter’s words were firm, but lacked their usual bite; he looked tired.“Teddy can’t sit through ceremonies that long, and neither can I,” he posited, ignoring the sharp glance Draco threw his way at mention of his cousin’s nickname, “Anyone we’d like to commemorate is buried on this side anyway.” 

Right, how could Draco have forgotten? After the war, half of the plots in this section of the yard had been dedicated in honor those who’d died ‘heroes of a senseless war’. As if anyone needed help remembering who had come out for the light in those days. Meanwhile those who’d fought on the Dark Lord’s side- his family’s side, Draco reminded himself darkly- had been left largely unclaimed, or else been buried in the private cemeteries of whichever pureblood family they belonged too. 

Scorpius and Edward were chasing each other around the graves. Or, Edward was doing the chasing while Scorpius fled, propelling himself from headstone to headstone as fast as his thick toddler arms could push him. 

“Oy Teddy, play nice now,” Potter admonished his godson for being too rough, but if Scorpius minded the way Teddy played, he didn’t show it. “Sorry about that,” Potter said, finally turning to Draco face-on, “everyone says it’s developmental, the play fighting.”

Draco snorted, he knew all to well what it meant to have ‘everyone’ weighing in on your parenting skills. Of course, it must be worse for Potter than it was for himself. Draco couldn’t imagine raising a child alone while so firmly implanted in society’s limelight. 

The question left his lips before he was able to fully form his thoughts, “Do you ever get tired of it?” he asked, and at Potter’s confusion added, “tired of people telling you what is and isn’t normal for him?”

Potter laughed, running a hand nervously through his already mussed hair. An action he must do a lot, Draco thought, since he never seemed to look all the way put together. “The mums are the worst,” he said, “really. Always telling you what worked for them as if it’s the only way. You should hear the way Mrs. Weasley goes on…” at this, Potter trailed off, seemingly uncomfortable divulging information about the Weasley family to a man the likes of Draco.

“But Teddy isn’t my just kid, so I’m doing not this alone exactly. Is it-“ Potter seemed to stall for a moment, looking for a way to phrase his question without what? Hurting Draco? Speaking too plainly? “Is it hard? Doing it alone, I mean.” There it was. 

“It was easier when I had help,” was all Draco offered in response.

“I know what you mean,” Potter replied too quickly, and Draco was filled with a sudden irritation at the man. Of course Potter, around whom everyone’s life revolved, would claim to understand something he’d never even come close to experiencing. 

“The recent and sudden loss of my wife,” Draco started slowly, “is hardly comparable to you and the Weaselette’s recent break up.” The idea that Potter had any inkling of what Draco had gone through the past thirteen months was preposterous, and the fact that he was going to sit there, ruining up what would have been a perfectly enjoyable afternoon, and pretend that he did understand sickened him. 

“That’s not what I meant, Draco-”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco snapped, interrupting Potter’s sentence for a second time, “As I said earlier, we’re not family, Potter.” Draco spat the man’s name like a curse, a reminder that he had no intention of being on familiar terms with anyone who’d come out of the war a hero. 

Draco expected Potter to spit back, but instead he sat back on his hands, carefully contemplating Draco’s stony expression. Draco worried he felt the heat of a blush starting at the top of his cheek bones, but if anything, he was flushing in anger and he expected Potter to understand that. 

“We’re not family, but they are,” The man nodded towards the children playing in the grass ahead. Edward had gathered Scorpius into his lap and was making the fallen leaves around them march in circles about the small plot of land. “Don’t let this… whatever this is distract from the fact that those two are going to have to be around each other for their entire lives.”

Potter was right, damn him, but Draco wasn’t ready to let go of the pain that fell like a stone at the base of his gut. Conditional tolerance was one thing, but to make good with Potter? Share Scorpius with a family that had no qualms abandoning the traditions that had marked wizard families for centuries? He didn’t know which idea nauseated him more. 

And what would his mother think? The thought briefly crossed Draco’s mind before he remembered Narcissa’s insistence that Draco reach out to Potter after the war. She’s wanted him to make amends, to thank him after it was rumored that Potter had played a large hand in Draco and his mother’s pardoning. But Draco didn’t need allies on the light, he didn’t need anything anymore, and the time for post war reconciliation had ended months ago. 

“Do you miss her?” Draco was pulled from his thoughts by Potter’s voice, soft, tentative. It took him a while to realize that the ‘her’ in question was Astoria. 

“I-“ Draco stopped short of accusing Potter of prying, he did miss Astoria- sorely.  
“Everyday,” Draco offered instead. 

“I miss Remus too. I know it’s not the same- I’m not pretending that it is- but I never thought I’d be raising his kid without him,” Potter continued, “And now, with Ginny gone and Andromeda only able to take care of Teddy on the weekends, it feels like-“

“Like any way he turns out, it’s going to be your fault,” The ease with which Draco finished Potter’s thought confounded him. The fire in his belly was gradually fading, and Draco fought hard to maintain some semblance of cold distance between himself and his childhood nemesis. Potter, he realized, was the first person he’d spoken to who even vaguely understood how it felt to be raising a child so soon after the war. Draco himself had been the first of their peer group to marry, and was currently the only one who’d had a child in the past five years. The relief he felt at this small semblance of affinity warred violently with the anger he had gathered for nearly a decade at Potter’s expense. 

“I wish I could just stop being worried about it,” for the first time, Potter’s voice felt as uncomfortable as Draco felt, and he was suddenly and acutely aware of the space between them. “I just didn’t think after the war that I’d have to take care of anyone other than myself.”

Draco didn’t know what to say after that, so he didn’t. He wrapped his arms tightly across his middle, and hummed lightly in response. Potter, for all it was worth, understood the situation enough not to comment. 

The boys had made their way back to the blanket and were happily munching on the sandwiches Draco had cut and packed when he’d expected this day would go much like any other. Scorpius, with all of the gumption of a Malfoy and a two year old, was telling Edward exactly what he wanted to snack on and when. Edward seemed to bask in the fact that he was able to complete the tasks Scorpius couldn’t do himself and was happily complying with the rapid orders. 

“Draco?” Potter said instead, and Draco didn’t have it in him to correct the man this time, “are you ever scared?”

“So scared I can’t breathe for it sometimes,” Draco replied, and in the silence that followed he realized that Potter was not looking at him at all anymore. He wasn’t looking at anything, really, just staring out past the horizon of the expansive graveyard, out past the sound of people clapping for a speech no doubt given by a close friend of Potter’s.

Draco studied the other man’s face intently, and realized with a shock that he was crying, angling his face away from Draco and the boys while tears ran, hot and angry, down both of his cheeks. Potter’s expression was unchanged, he looked as if he were deeply lost in thought, and Draco was given the sense that this was a common occurrence. He, on the other hand, could hardly remember the last time he had cried- really cried. 

“I can go,” Draco offered, embarrassed and not sure where he was even planning to retreat to. Potter shook his head though, and reached out to clasp Draco’s shoulder they way he used to with his Gryffindor friends on the quidditch pitch. Draco recognized the movement, he’d watched it happen over and over again as a young man, ignoring the odd feeling of jealously he felt every time. 

“Don’t,” Potter said, clearing the tears from his voice, “I’m sorry. I’m done.”

“No need to apologize on my account, Potter,” Draco was uncomfortable with how gentle the statement sounded in his voice. The usual biting tone he adopted when Potter was around had all but dissipated, “Merlin knows If I could cry still I’d do it often.”

Potter nodded, and the silence that followed was awkward enough that Draco felt he had better find something small to do and fill the space. He looked down and the space of blanket between himself and Potter. Scorpius, it seemed, had fallen asleep in this cousin’s arms, and Draco spelled the small boy’s cloak to warm him at the same time that Potter conjured a blanket for them both. 

“Should probably let them sleep,” Potter commented, indicating with a nod Edwards own fluttering eyelids. 

With no one left to take care of, the awkwardness was back, and this time Draco couldn’t think of a single thing to do that would make it better. 

“I won’t-” he started, but quickly lost confidence in what he was trying to say. “I’m not going to tell anyone about this,” He settled on finally, “The crying I mean. Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“I didn’t think you were, Malfoy,” Potter said, and his return to Draco’s surname made Draco’s chest ache in a way he hadn’t encountered in a long time. 

“We should get together sometime. I mean-“ Potter’s ears reddened in a very Weasley-esque way and Draco wondered if it was possible to adopt the physical characteristics of families to which one didn’t belong, “I’m sure Teddy and Scorpius would appreciate more play time.” 

“I'm sure they would," Draco offered in return, "I'd like that as well."

**Author's Note:**

> As always, reviews are a highly cherished thing. 
> 
> I wrote the same drabble from Harry's POV before I wrote this one, and I'm toying with the idea of posting it as a companion piece. 
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://www.dracobaby.tumblr.com)! Talk to me ✿


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